


Vodka and Vanilla

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Sam, Date Rape, Drunk Sex, Drunken Flirting, First Time, Gay Chicken, Guilt, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform, lotion as lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thinks Dean is overcompensating for his latent homosexual desires. Dean thinks Sam is full of shit, and he's determined to prove it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the noncon tag: What happens here is facilitated by alcohol and the participants, upon sobering up, do not approve of their drunken shenanigans.  
> This is a category of noncon I call "rape without a rapist" in which there is no intent to harm, and it is not important to allocate blame. But, if noncon/dubcon is triggery for you (alternatively, if noncon/dubcon is your fetish) you can now proceed fully informed.

“Never. You’ve _never_ found a guy attractive.”

“Never.”

“Bullshit.”

When they’d started, there had been half a bottle of tequila, five beers (they’d flipped for the odd one; Sam won) roughly two ounces of rum (who leaves two ounces? Kill the bottle, pussy.) and most of a bottle of vanilla vodka, the kind you get off the bottom shelf and drink as a final farewell to ever enjoying vodka.

Oh, and wine. Dean had argued against the wine. They were drinking to forget, but they weren’t trying to forget a fucking _ex-husband_ so what the fuck did they need with wine?

But, when your midnight search for alcohol leads you to a gas station in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere, you take what you can get. It was that or some fucking pumpkin-spice microbrew and while Dean wasn’t a middle-aged housewife, he was _equally_ not a white girl in his early twenties, and in any case, the wine was cheaper.

“Can you at least identify when a guy _is_ attractive?”

“No, Sam, I can’t tell when a dude is sexy. I’m not tuned that way.”

“I didn’t say sexy,” Sam said, and Dean rolled his eyes so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

“Fine, I can’t tell when a guy is _attractive,_ ” Dean said, speaking slowly.

“So… can you tell that _you’re_ attractive?”

“Hell yeah. I’m damn fine.”

“And that’s… that’s my point,” Sam said, losing track of his point halfway through the statement, but recovering. “If you can tell that _you’re_ attractive, then how can you say you don’t know when guys are attractive?”

Sam blinked.

“Can you tell if _I’m_ attractive?”

“Of course you’re pretty, Samantha, you’re like a fucking L’Oreal commercial over there.”

Sam glared at him.

“I think you’re overcompensating.”

“Oh my god.”

Dean gave the vodka another try. It was not as terrible as he remembered.

“No, no, I think you’re overcompensating. I think you have latent homosexual tendencies that you’re repressing by pretending you can’t tell if guys are good looking.”

“Fuck, I don’t even have to know _half_ those words to know you’re full of shit.”

“It means, you’re gay and scared of it.”

“Do I get a medal for ‘most pussy ever hit by a gay dude’ then? I think I should get a medal.”

Sam reached across the table, fixing Dean with a hard stare.

“Gimme your hand.”

“No. Why?”

“Gimme.”

Dean reluctantly extended a hand, and Sam grabbed it.

“ _You,”_ he said deliberately, “are scared of guys.”

“And _you_ ,” Dean countered, “are too drunk to think straight. Come on, Sammy, bedtime.”

He tried to withdraw his hand, but Sam held tight.

“S’what I mean,” Sam said, grabbing on with his other hand, too. “One teeny tiny touch and you’re done for the night. All over. Everybody go home.”

“And that means I’m scared of guys.”

Sam nodded gravely.

“Sam, I could kiss you full on the mouth and not scrounge up a single fuck to give afterward. It’s bedtime because it’s four am and you’re _very_ drunk.”

“Do it then.”

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

The little motel table suddenly seemed very small. Sam, leaning across it to grasp Dean’s hand, suddenly seemed very close.

“Are you serious?”

“Told you you’re scared.”

Dean sighed, then leaned across the table and pecked his brother on the lips.

“Happy now?”

Sam blinked.

“You’re a shitty kisser. I don’t believe you’ve _ever_ kissed a girl like that.”

Sam leaned across the table, pressing his mouth to Dean’s. His mouth was hot and soft and he smelled like vanilla. He drew back with a grin.

“That’s exactly what I did, just _longer_ , you fucking virgin.” Dean grabbed his brother’s lapels, yanking him back across the table. This time when he kissed he did it _right,_ nipping at Sam’s lip until the younger man opened for him, then delving inside. Sam was hesitant. For all his talk, he didn’t have Dean’s experience. That was okay.

“Dean, wait,” Sam said, pulling back, and Dean smirked at him.

“Now who’s scared of guys?”

Sam’s resolve hardened and he leaned into Dean again, copying his actions from earlier, biting Dean’s lip and exploring with his tongue.

Dean combed his fingers through Sam’s hair, rubbing the base of his neck and pulling him close.

Sam’s hands dropped to Dean’s shirt, working the layers of buttons open.

Dean yanked at the hem of his brother’s shirt, pulling it up over his head and leaving him naked from the waist up.

Sam locked their mouths together again, pushing jacket and layers of flannel back, off Dean’s body, until their bare chests were pressed together.

Dean had never been with a man before but if he were with a woman, the next base involved boobs, so he went with that. His fingers found one of Sam’s nipples and pinched, drawing a hiss out of the younger man.

Sam’s fingers ghosted over his body, leaving faint trails of warmth, and then they were on his belt buckle.

The only light in the room came from a shitty 40-watt lamp in the corner, so when Dean pulled back to look at Sam’s face, some of the nuances of his brother’s expression may have been lost. What he saw there was determination and lust, and after half a bottle of vanilla vodka, that was good enough for Dean.

He pushed Sam backwards onto the bed, climbing on top of him and kissing him deep. Sam got his belt open, shoved his fly down, and then paused, like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next.

“Go on,” Dean whispered, mouthing at the hollow of Sam’s throat. “See how hard you make me.”

Sam’s hands were hesitant as they delved through Dean’s clothes to find his cock. Dean groaned when his brother’s fingers closed around his length and stroked tentatively. He pushed one knee down between Sam’s legs, making the other man spread for him. Dean needed one arm to hold his weight, but with the other, he fumbled Sam’s jeans open. He rose up on his knees, sliding the clothes down over Sam’s hips and down his legs.

Sam might have been blushing or it might have been the alcohol.

“You got a condom?” Sam asked, and Dean realized _this is really going to happen._

He stripped his own pants off, retrieving the condom from its customary place in his wallet. Dean had been carrying one there ever since he was twelve years old and John had informed him that it was a man’s duty to have at least two rubbers, one of them flavored, at all times.

This one was lubricated, and as Dean rolled it down over his cock, he realized they should probably have something else. He racked his brain for something, _anything_ he might have to make this easier, and eventually dug out a bottle of lotion he kept because- well. Because.

Sam got very quiet when Dean returned to the bed, pushing his legs apart and kneeling between them. Dean leaned down, kissing him deep and thorough. One arm held him up, and with the other, he stroked Sam’s cock, making him moan.

“Like that, little brother?”

Sam clenched his eyes shut and whispered “ _yes._ ”

When Sam was fully hard, Dean kneeled back again, shaking some of the lotion out of the bottle and slicking up the length of his cock. When he was as slippery as he could get, he rubbed two fingers up the cleft of Sam’s ass, rubbing against the puckered opening hidden there.

“You ready?”

Sam nodded, and Dean pushed at his hip.

“Roll over.”

Sam rolled onto his belly and Dean pulled his hips back and up, until Sam was on his hands and knees. Dean took himself in hand, squeezing tight around the base and holding it until his entire cock was rock hard, and then he pressed in. Sam whimpered, and he paused.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Sam couldn’t relax, making Dean fight for every centimeter, and twice he applied more of the lotion, hoping that would help, until eventually he was bottomed out in the younger man. He paused, letting Sam adjust to the size of him. He rubbed his hands up his brother’s back, then reached around and cupped Sam’s balls. His erection had been flagging, but this new attention made him stand up again. Dean stroked him with long, steady strokes, keeping Sam hard as Dean began rocking into him.

Sam was burning hot and gloriously tight, and Dean had to go slow to keep from blowing his load early. He wanted Sam to come first.

“Feel that, baby boy?” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over the slit of Sam’s cock. “Feel me fucking into you?”

“Yes,” Sam murmured.

“You like that? That gonna make you come?”

“Nnn-” Sam answered, dropping his head and pushing his hips back into Dean, hard. The angle changed and suddenly Dean could feel Sam fluttering around him with every thrust. He paused, but Sam wasn’t having it and worked his hips, thrusting forward into Dean’s hand and then pulling back to impale himself on Dean’s cock.

“I’m-!” Sam started, but he didn’t get any further than that, because he was spilling his seed all over Dean’s fist, and he was clamping down _hard_ and Dean was coming inside him.

Sam’s legs began giving out and Dean collapsed on top of him, a tangle of sweaty arms and legs.

“Geddoff,” Sam grumbled, and Dean rolled off. He tied off the rubber and flicked it into the trash can before collapsing onto his own bed and passing out naked.  

 

 

Dean woke up with the mother of all hangovers, and for a moment he didn’t remember why Sam was limping. And then it all came back to him.

“Oh, fuck, did we really-”

“No,” Sam said, fixing him with a stare. His face was puffy and his eyes were red. It was probably just the hangover, but-

“Sam, did I-”

Sam picked up the bottle of vodka and heaved it against the far wall. The room filled with the smell of vanilla.

“ _No,_ ” Sam said again. He shoved the last of his clothes into his duffel, and zipped it shut. “Pack your shit. We’ve gotta be out of here in an hour.”

He shouldered the bag and carried it outside, slamming the door behind him. The sound sent splinters of glass through the backs of Dean’s eyes.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he mumbled, and stumbled into the bathroom for a shower.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of folks didn't really get the ending of the original story, so I'm expanding it a little bit to try to shine a light on Sam's reaction. 
> 
> There is no sex in this chapter, at all. It's just Sam and his thoughts. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sam's thought process is based partly on my own experiences. If you're interested in hearing a backstory for the chapter, [you can read it here. ](http://mailissa-blog.tumblr.com/post/140824455496/very-long-super-serious-post-that-im-writing-as)
> 
>  
> 
> Soundtrack to this chapter is [Coffins,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B71uFlKsh7w) by MisterWives. Because that's what I listened to while I brainstormed/wrote it.

_Do it then._

_Kiss me._

_Do it then._

_Kiss me._

_Do it then._

_Do it._

_Do it._

Sam heard his own voice, echoing through his mind again and again and again.

He did this. He asked for it. He’d literally asked for it.

Mile after mile of telephone poles rolled by outside, counting down the miles to the next case, the next motel, the next night spent in a room with his brother.

Dean was miraculously quiet. He’d started to ask when he woke up, and Sam had put a stop to it and left the room. He’d been waiting in the car when Dean came out forty minutes later, and they hadn’t so much as looked at each other since then.

That was two hours ago. Six to go.

Sam turned the radio up, Led Zeppelin’s “One Vision” drowning out the sound of the impala’s engine, but not the memory of Sam’s voice in his head.

_Kiss me._

_What was I thinking._

_What did I expect._

Kidding. That’s all it had been. He’d expected Dean to get flustered, had been practically glowing at the thought of the teasing he would be able to get out of it.

He hadn’t expected it to feel good. He hadn’t expected his brother’s lips to be soft and warm. He hadn’t expected anything, because he’d never _thought_ about it, not until that moment.

_How did I let this happen._

_How did I let it go that far._

Dean flicked on the blinker and pulled into the parking lot of a gas station, and Sam was out of the car almost before it stopped. He hadn’t realized he felt sick until he got to the bathroom and puked.

Fortunately it wasn’t one of those stall-jobs, and he could lock the door and choke up all his shame and misery without an audience.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He didn’t look different. He felt like he should look different.

He felt different.

_I’ve been fucked._

_I let my older brother fuck me._

Dean’s mouth was gentle on him, it felt good, and for a moment he forgot everything, where he was and who he was with and where he’d been and where he was going.

And for just a moment, he was safe and loved and it felt good, and he let it happen.

_He made me come._

Sam clenched his eyes and pressed his forehead into the mirror but he couldn’t make it go away, the feeling of Dean’s hand around him, stroking him in time with shallow, even thrusts. How warm and solid Dean had felt, rocking into him.

Sam couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t have liked it, it was impossible. Dean was his brother. Sam was straight.

He’d been drunk. That’s all.

He had the hangover to prove it.

_What if he wants to do it again?_

Sam’s stomach seized up, but there was nothing left to throw up.

He splashed water on his face and paused with his hand on the doorknob.

It was stupid. He couldn’t stay in here forever.

But he didn’t want to go back out there. He couldn’t face Dean, look him in the eyes knowing what he’d done. What they’d done.

What he’d _goaded_ Dean into doing.

He was going to cry, he could feel it, and he hated it, because he couldn’t stay in here forever and he was going to have to go back out to the car with his face red and Dean would know.

His throat was tight and it hurt and his eyes were watering and _fuck_ it, not only was he a guy who took it up the ass, he was a guy who took it up the ass and then _cried_ about it.

He looked in the mirror.

He felt like he should look different.

Someone pounded on the door and told him to hurry the fuck up.    

 

 

Dean was saying something about a fifteen year cycle of murders, but Sam couldn’t hear him. He was watching his brother’s mouth and all he could hear was Dean asking him if he liked it. Asking him if he was going to come.

“I think I should handle this one on my own,” he blurted. Dean scowled.

“Is this because of yesterday? Dude, we were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.”

Sam’s stomach clenched down. Dean was right, it didn’t change anything, it’s not like things were going to be different between them now. So what if he couldn’t think about anything else?

Sam remembered beheading a woman when he was thirteen. She was a vampire, he knew that. A murderer. He’d cut her head off and it had fallen to the ground with a squishy thump. It didn’t do anything cliché’d like land face-up and stare at him with wide eyes. It had landed on one cheek, eyes half-lidded, jaw hanging open. And as Sam watched, blood had formed a puddle and soaked into her hair. For weeks, he had seen the blood in her hair. He’d had dreams about it. He couldn’t shake the thought of what it would feel like in his own hair, and finally the imagined feeling got so bad he cut it off. It didn’t help.

John and Dean didn’t use words like ‘trauma.’ Sam learned that one at Stanford.  

John and Dean used words like ‘suck it up,’ usually accompanied by an offer of liquor.

This wasn’t trauma. It couldn’t be.

Dean hadn’t overpowered him or forced him or even hurt him, really. A little pressure, a little discomfort. Once, on a hunt, Dean had reset and taped up two broken fingers. _That_ was pain. What happened last night hadn’t hurt, not like Sam was used to being hurt.

It didn’t mean anything. He hadn’t been hurt. Dean didn’t force him. It was his own fucking fault. He’d asked for it, and he’d been drunk, and now it was over.

He just needed to stop _thinking_ about it, and it would be fine. It would fade, just like the feeling of blood in his hair.

_Like that, baby boy?_

“I want to do it myself!”

The words came out with a little more anger than he was expecting. Dean glanced over at him, then turned his attention back to the road.

“Fine. Do it yourself. For the record, my money’s on a ghost.”  

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Dean was right.

It was a ghost.

Sam handled it just fine on his own, not that Dean wasn’t right there in the shadows, watching and making sure.

Sam needed his space. That was fair. And if he wanted to be mad at Dean, that was probably fair, too. But Dean wasn’t letting his brother get hurt over this.

Sam would get past it. The memory would fade and the nightmares would stop and they’d very carefully not talk about it, ever again.

This was just a new verse in a very old song.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, this is the third of three prompts I aimed to fill for #AMOK2016. This is my random act of kindness, enjoy the porn. 
> 
> For more on my 'official' AMOK doings, please [click this blatant tumblr plug.](http://mailissa-blog.tumblr.com/post/140535007146/running-amok)
> 
> Really, I just want to be loved.


End file.
